Misery
by Deandra
Summary: Eomer is unwell. Fluffy little ONESHOT. Part 165 of the Elfwine Chronicles.


_**Part 165 of the Elfwine Chronicles. The Elfwine Chronicles are a series of one-shots built around the family group of Eomer, Lothiriel and Elfwine. The total number will depend on how many ideas I get for new vignettes.**_

_**A/N: Number 164 will be along soon. It's still being "checked" one final time. **_

**Misery**

**(Sep, 20 IV)**

Eomer could not remember ever being so ill. Bad food or some contagion had sometimes laid him low in the past, but this was well beyond anything he had experienced previously. He had heaved so much he felt there was nothing left to purge but his insides themselves, and he wasn't at all sure that wasn't still going to occur.

The damp cloth on his forehead eased the heat in his head somewhat, but nothing was so soothing as the cool, tender hand of his wife, gently stroking his head. He did not know how long she had sat there, repeatedly administering such care, but he was more than grateful for it. Only as much as he was able to focus on that could he forget his misery for a brief time.

When at length he slept, Lothiriel finally set aside the cloth and slipped quietly from the room, pausing to glance back sympathetically at him before closing the bedchamber door behind her. Tiredly she made her way down the hall to get a few necessary things accomplished before he again awoke.

It had been less than an hour since Lothiriel's departure when the door to the adjoining nursery creaked open, and a flaxen head poked in to gaze at Eomer. After a moment, the little girl trotted over to the bed, doing her best to keep quiet and not disturb her sleeping father.

Morwen had watched her mother nursing Eomer, and so she mimicked what she had witnessed, reaching for the cloth and then scaling the side of the bed to press it upon her father's face. At the jiggling of the bed, Eomer's eyes blearily blinked open. Seeing it, Morwen chirped, "Rest easy, Papa. I will tend you until Mama returns."

A tender smile slid over Eomer's face despite his misery. Theodwyn was his wild child; Morwen was the nurturer. Theodwyn was likely to knock a nest out of a tree practicing her throwing, but then Morwen would bring the hapless bird home to raise. Letting his eyes slip shut again as a wave of nausea hit, he murmured, "Thank you, dearest. Papa appreciates your helpfulness."

He was to regret those words. For the remainder of the day and into the next, though the purging ceased and he began to feel somewhat better, Morwen proved an excessively attentive healer – so much so that he was finding it difficult to get any rest. Every time his eyes closed, she put in appearance to check on him, her lively chatter impossible to ignore. He was sorely tempted to ask his wife to rescue him, but the eager attention to his care shining on his daughter's face dissuaded him. He had suffered much worse in the war years; he could endure a few days of this.

As it turned out, his wife was not oblivious to his plight. Turning up at his bedside the next afternoon, Lothiriel leveled her gaze on her youngest daughter. "Morwen, dearest, one of the things ill people need is rest. I think we must see that Papa gets more sleep by not being with him so much," she suggested.

The child was clearly disappointed, but dutifully set down the mug of juice she had brought for Eomer to drink and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek. Authoritatively, she told him, "Mama is right, Papa. You must sleep more. We will check on you later."

"Whatever you say, sweetness. I am sure you will have Papa well in no time," he told his daughter, before raising his eyes to meet his wife's gaze. No words were necessary; his look spoke volumes of his gratitude for her intervention.

With a knowing smile, Lothiriel reached for Morwen's hand and the two made their way from the room. Leaning back into the pillows, Eomer let out a contented sigh. For all the inconvenience of his tiny helper, he felt richly blessed to be so loved, and have his family close about him at such times as this. He was indeed _eadig_, in more ways than one.

THE END

11/16/07 – 12/20/07 (Morwen is six years old here.)

_**End note: **__** It is best that you read the Elfwine Chronicles in the order they were written.**__** The more of them that I wrote, the more likely I was to make reference to one of the previous ones and something that happened there. If you want to read them in order, go to the top of this page and click on my name (Deandra). That will take you to my profile page. Scroll down and you will find all the stories I have written. The Elfwine Chronicles are in order from bottom to top since ffn shows them in the order they were posted. A few were posted out of number order, but you can read them in posting order or number order since those few won't be affected in the story content.**_


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